FANCY CHOODIWALA

 

He was a bald rotund man, dressed in spotless white Kurta Pyjama, who could give friend Shetty (the yesteryear  Bollywood fight master villain) a run for his money. We didn’t know his name, and knew him by his push cart and his call, Fancy Choodi-Wala (BangleMan). He was a regular fixture in the by-lanes in Indore in the 70s when we were growing up. Our summer vacations would normally be spent at our maternal grand parents place and arrival of this person was awaited by the kids as also the ladies, naturally after all he was supposed to be a Choodi-Wala. But his push cart was a treasure trove, where you could discover anything you desired as a kid, you name it, you get it, a whistle, cricket bat,Tennis balls, Table Tennis Bats, ping pong balls, Badminton rackets, shuttle cocks, playing cards, Board Games, Ludo, Snakes & Ladders, Flutes and what not. Whistles and flutes are instruments designed specially for the kids to subject the elders to a different level of torture. Invariably, the moment kids spot one, it automatically finds its way to their lips and then music discovers the ninth note, which is nothing but a screeching sound, as though the rim of the vehicle has been given a shove on a pebbled road. The elders are forced to cover their ears, kids revel in it like Calvin of the Calvin & Hobbes, and the elders are prepared to sign their will bequeathing their every possession to the kid as long as he/she swears to forsake the erring flute/whistle. Ironically, the same flute turns musical and emits the sweet sounding octaves. 

Getting back to this original Dollar shop, a mobile super market, Chudi_Walla, for the ladies, he stocked bangles, bindis, ear rings, rings, lipsticks, creams, talcs, nail paints and so on. But that wasn’t all, he was the go to person for ear  and nose piercing, so ladies with toddlers would queue up as he was precise like a well trained surgeon, the exact spot, in a flash, before the child realised, he was through with his operation. For the devout, he would carry lockets of Hanuman, Durga Mata, Sai Baba, Shiva, black thread for tying on the wrist to ward off the evil eye, photos of various deities etc.

While the kids and the ladies looked forward to his weekly round of our lane, the elders were quite wary, as kids would invariably get hold of flutes and whistles apart from the  balls, lockets and board games. I am sure all of us have been at the receiving end, when a kid gets hold of a whistle or a flute and who derives immense pleasure in just blowing into it. His/her ears are deaf to the  noise that it generates and sure enough they come and blow it right into your ears, which are not immune to this cacophony and the reflex action is to snatch the offending instrument, but then kids are way too smart and faster, so we are left swatting thin air while the kid in question has moved on whistling away to glory.

You must be wondering why am I talking about a Choodi-Wala today? Well it so happened that today I spotted an e-rickshaw which resembled the same kind of  push cart. I am sure villages and towns probably still have some of these mobile retailers floating around where ladies find the useful household stuff, though I am not sure if the kids there are still excited by them.

TO SIR WITH LOVE

 The old timers would recall, a movie starring Sydney Poitier and Lulu based on the life of the  autobiography of  ER Braithwaite, Lulu’s iconic song in the climax “To Sir with love…” is simply legendary. In fact, the movie itself still remains etched in my memory, as though I saw it yesterday, even after more than four decades. This one may come as a surprise to most of you but this SIR, is not your teacher as you know them, but it ends up teaching you a number of lessons alright. The SIR, I am referring to, is the Special Intensive Revision of the Voter List, currently in progress in a number of states in India.

Having led a nomadic existence in the last five decades , since I joined RIMC as an eleven year old, this rolling stone gathered no moss nor a Voter ID. A mandatory requirement to participate in the democratic process in the country. But then someone has to guard the borders, so while the election festival is celebrated with much fanfare in the rest of the country, we faujis have to watch the fun from the sidelines. Earlier, we never received the postal ballots, then when we started registering where we were posted, we landed up in Jammu & Kashmir, where we were again denied our fundamental right. But all that was part of life that we had signed up for, so no cribs. Now having superannuated and back in the civil world, it was time for us to be counted so we registered ourselves as Voters in Mhow last year and duly cast our votes in the Assembly Elections. 

Then this SIR hit us, requiring us to link our names with the 2003 Voter List. That was a tall order, as in 2003 we were in Ladakh and obviously did not figure in any list anywhere in the country. I was told that all that was needed was my parents names in the 2003 list, so in all earnestness I set out to get the missing link. I am quite sure mankind was not so earnest in finding the elusive missing link in evolution of Homo sapiens as I was, after all it was my citizenship which was at stake. The threat of being labelled a Bangladeshi or a Rohingya in disguise was enough to send me scurrying to the Booth Level Officer (BLO). The BLOs are actually teachers who have landed up with this millstone around their neck, who have the highly unenviable task of tracing the voters in the booths assigned to them and then getting the necessary documentation done. The task given to them actually is one fit for ghosts (Bhoot), because only a bhoot can find the missing people in the voter list. As it is, it is reported that quite a few of these listed voters themselves have kicked the bucket and may themselves be ghosts watching the fun from some of the old Peepul Trees or from the graveyards.

Anyway, having been served a notice that we were the unmapped types, we were required to present ourselves to the BLO, who directed us to the Tehsil Office for submitting  the required documents to prove that we were bonafide citizens of Bharat. Being conscientious and sincere, I meticulously  collected almost all the documents listed, a Govt issued identity card, my veteran card, my  Pension Payment Order (PPO), my Passport, copy of registry of property, High School Certificate and so on. The officer, despite being on leave, was kind enough to entertain us and accepted our claim with the documents presented. I am hoping that with this presentation of documents To SIR with Love, the saga would come to a happy end. I just hope that the name is entered correctly, as I was told by my friend Akash, that his father’s name in the list was entered as Bigdey (बिगड़े) Bhanot instead of Brigadier Bhanot. So keeping my fingers crossed….

RELIGION IN THE ARMED FORCES: LET THEM BE

  Lieutenant Samuel Kamalesan was recently in the news, as his petition against his dismissal from the army was rejected by the Supreme Court. Being a veteran, we have attended countless services in the temples, gurudwaras, churches and mosques over the four odd decades, while one was in the service of the nation. Frankly as a youngster in the unit, all these religious parades, as they were referred to, was not something one looked forward to eagerly, barring the gurudwara, where the attraction was the ‘kadha prasad’, (the mouthwatering ghee dripping ‘halwa’), and sure enough some of us would even volunteer to help in the distribution as at the end, there was a chance that we would be rewarded with an extra helping. Fresh out of the academies, most of us had just about bid farewell to the teenage, still adolescents at heart and many of our immature actions left our seniors in no doubt about that. While sports fields were fun, the religious worship routines were not, especially if it went on for too long, as the priest/granthi /maulvi invariably made it a point to instil all the scriptures laden sermons onto the gathering. 

Many an articles have been written about the true secular values of the Indian Armed Forces, 

where mutual tolerance is not just for display, but actually practised. The Muslim Commanding 

Officer performing ‘aaratis’ in the unit temple, or the Hindu Commanding Officer observing ‘roza’

 with their muslim troops, no wonder the expectation from each officer was that they would follow this healthy tradition religiously, which almost all of us did voluntarily, some may have followed the diktats

 grudgingly, but none ever refused to toe the line. Perceptions matter, the troops must be 

convinced that we are with them in thick and thin.

 Let us understand the nuances of secularism, then I think we will be better placed to 

comprehend this seemingly harsh action in its correct perspective. I feel as a nation, we 

haven’t really assimilated the true essence of being ‘secular’. The Western definition is, 

‘separation of the state from the church’, i.e. the state should not be a theocracy. Merely 

absence of a singular religion as the official formal religion of the state may qualify strictly as

 per the definition, but in India ours is a deeply religious society which is also a multi religious 

one, we defined secularism as ‘tolerance’ for the other religions. The term ‘tolerance’, has a 

negative connotation, i.e. we may or may not approve of the other’s faith, but are forced to live

 with it, in other words, we simply tolerate it. Hinduism professes, ‘ekam sat vipra bahudha 

vadanti’, meaning the truth is one, the wise express it differently, thus accepting everyone’s 

version, not merely tolerating it. The moment, we start accepting this as a fact, there is no 

dichotomy in our minds. By observing the regimental traditions, we are honouring the unit and

 the men both. There is never an embargo on anyone following his personal religious beliefs in

 his/her own time, i.e. individually one can go to the church or mosque, observe fasts or follow

 any other practises which are mandated by their religion. Collectively, we take pride in 

following the unit traditions, which may or may not be religious, it is here that friend Samuel 

committed this blunder. The act of refusal of a lawful command is a punishable offence and this

 was not by omission, it was by commission, hence it could not have been ignored. 

Unfortunately, the usual suspects in the civil world, who are troubled by the decision, and are

 raising the bogey of majoritarianism, are barking up the wrong tree. As there are countless

 number of cases where, non Muslim officers have been observing roza voluntarily in solidarity

 with the troops, as mentioned earlier. The true religion of a soldier is the “naam namak nishan”

, the  ‘izzat’ of the unit, this is not understood by many in the  civil world. Religion of the officer 

is that of his unit. My earnest request is, let the armed forces be, please leave them alone and

 please do not vitiate the environment in the units by unnecessarily looking for controversies. 

Such actions need to be nipped in the bud. 

 

RETIREMENT: THE PERENNIAL DREAM ANNUAL LEAVE

 Life after retirement was supposed to be a challenge, I was made to believe that, after almost four decades in uniform, a hectic schedule and suddenly, there are no deadlines to meet, no rush for the office, no ppt to be presented, sort of that fictional annual leave when no one rings up to bother you about some forgotten paper, office memo or an urgent response to the higher HQ. I was supposed to be entering a sudden void, a vacuum which could be unnerving, at times even depressing and in worst case being reduced to the status of the ‘go-getter’ (go to the market and get this that and the other, as per diktats of the lady of the house). Well frankly it’s been nine months now, high time I should have been suffering from some sort of postpartum anxiety at least, after all we were in a cocoon ourselves, a womb of sorts, shielded from the world, living in our own universe. Postpartum depression of course is supposed to be afflicting mothers, so may be the mother organisation, the Army should be feeling it, we, the children are in a state of bliss. 

During the service, we all suffered some bosses who were extremely stingy when it came to permitting any leave of absence. Every time, a leave application was put up, he would become grouchy, a dozen new tasks would invariably materialise from the blue, which would put paid to your dreams of the beachside holiday. We were made to feel as though without us the whole edifice would crumble, although we were aware that our status was essentially that of a spare tyre, not an essential cog in the wheel. An authorisation of 60 days of annual leave was like the proverbial mirage, something that we dreamt about often, but knew we would settle for 30 days any day, because that was the max that was on offer, that too in bits and pieces.  Then there was casual leave of 20 days, which was all but casual, as it also needed deliberate planning, especially the times when we were in the field areas, trying to get the prefix and suffix right to maximise and stretch a six day one to eight days where at least the travel would be covered by the prefix/suffix. Convoy days, bad weather and missing out on the manifest, there could be many a slip between possessing the leave certificate and proceeding on leave.

Today is 31st Dec, the last day of the year, when your supposed entitled leave counter is reset, and the un-availed portion of the annual one goes into the kitty of accumulated leave, the casual ones simply lapse. Some formations are lucky, where the old men do permit the carryover of leave for a fortnight at times, giving a breather to those who could not be spared due to the supposed operational exigencies earlier. The accumulated leave is akin to the fixed deposit in the bank till you reach the magic figure of 300, which most of us reached in just about 12 to 15 years of service, after that, the accumulation is simply notional, which does not bring any pecuniary benefits, just a figure of let’s say 800 days, implying that your bosses were really very fond of you. 

This year, I have partly made up for those 500 odd days, which I surrendered knowing fully well that it goes down the drain, so at least 280 days worth I have recovered. Blissful, not a care in the world, no unearthly calls, no bosses to answer to, other than the one at home, basking in the Sun and keying this one in….my idea of leisure and pleasure. So all those who have finally hung their spurs, don’t be desperate to latch on to anything and everything that comes your way. At least relax and recover those lost days  before you try to embark on a new journey. 

COURSE SPIRIT

  

It started with a call, “Hi where are you?”, “Indore” was my response, “Oh I thought you were in Mhow”. RCT was on line and I immediately pounced on him,”You must read the blogs, which I send out”, knowing fully well, an Army Commander is a busy person, but then course-mates have a right to pull each other’s legs. I enquired what was he doing in Mhow, now it was his turn to take a dig,”You are retired, but you may like to peruse the papers once in a while, we are here for the ‘Infantry Commanders Conference’”. He said “We must catch up”. There we both agreed and I said I will await his call. I knew these conferences are time consuming so we would probably get a small window sometime over the course of next two days. When next day I didn’t receive any call, I understood, their schedule was quite packed, so I suggested that both he and Andy, the two Army Commanders of our course should drop by on their way to the airport. Both of them immediately appreciated the idea and we locked it.

While Preeti my better half, got on with the preparations, knowing fully well, that there would be a full fledged cavalcade following them, I started wondering, what exactly is this course spirit? In NDA, we were not in the same Squadron or even Company later in IMA, not even in the same academic class, the two of them are hard core Infantarians, I am a Signaller, it was only much later in Service, that with RCT I did the staff course and with Andy, served in Leh and then we went back to Wellington together as DSs. But the spirit did not get kindled during these stints, it was always prevalent and the spark need not even be a physical one, just a phone call is enough. This spirit, as people say is in the air in the academies, highly infectious, as all of us catch the bug without exception. The reputation travels through the word of mouth and even in the academies, we do get to know one another as though each one is a chuddy buddy. We were 300 of us when we joined the NDA and 200 of us who landed up in the IMA, the balance 100 went to the Air Force Academy and Naval Academy. With Army counterparts, we generally do cross paths over the three decades plus service that most us have put in, either on courses of instruction or postings together, with the sister services too, the tri-services  courses like Staff Course, Higher Command, NDC you get to rub shoulders, where our better halves too learn to bond as they have no other option. We socialise with them and chat up about them, so they do realise that they would be missing the fun, if they stayed out of this close bond. The ‘bond’ reminds me of a song in the yesteryear classic film “Rajanigandha”, where the heroine croons, “Kitana sukh hai bandhan men”, meaning the pleasure of this bondage has to be experienced to be realised, she is of course referring to her lover. But the context remains the same, this bond has to be lived through to realise its true worth and meaning in our lives. My Dad was sick, in the ICU, Andy comes calling, puts in a word. My daughter Ananya’s wedding RCT makes it a point to grace the occasion, having promised her.The gestures matter. These are moments to treasure, yesterday too was a similar moment, RCT with Gauri and Andy with Ruchira landed up for a cup of coffee and lit up the place literally. Two warm bear hugs, lots of backslapping and some leg pulling and we were back in the academy. That spirit, which can’t be defined, which has to be experienced, was evident, you can see me beaming with ride at the glorious achievements of two of our stalwarts.

Our quiet lane was buzzing with activity since the day before when the CMP pilot vehicle came to check on the route. The civilian world is suddenly shaken up when they see people in uniform and having watched the spectacle of the cavalcade, I am sure it will be the talk of our neighbourhood for a number of days. We will enjoy in the basked glory. Here you can see an extremely proud father relishing these moments with us. 

BANGLADESH IMBROGLIO

 The recent events in Bangladesh are not just a cause for concern but I think, it is now bordering as a threat in being. Ironically within a century, the lighthouse of Indian civilisation, undivided Bengal has turned into such a morass that no one could have imagined. The land of Tagore and Kazi Nazrul Islam, which even the British had to finally surrender to, when they revoked the 1905 division of Bengal. This abyss that both Bengals find themselves in today, can be traced back to the seeds of radicalisation sowed in the pre-partition era. The riots and violence which was unleashed on the minorities in the predominantly Muslim East Bengal those days was not an aberration. The overt bon-homie between the  communities could not paper over the deep divide within, like a powder keg, just waiting for any trigger to explode. Humanity itself was disgraced and ashamed by the horrendous acts of mindless violence that arsonists indulged in, after the clarion call given by Jinnah of “Direct Action Day” on 16 Aug 1946. Thus the roots of Jamaat-i-Islami are not Pakistani in origin, it is homegrown, of course actively supported by ISI. Jamaatis were not eliminated from Bangladesh after 1971, they were just sidelined, and they were waiting in the wings to strike, when they were in a position to do that.

 

India is guilty of firstly presuming that these Jamaat activists are fringe elements, secondly of underestimating the threat emerging in the East and thirdly of total  intelligence failure at not having been able to see the writing on the wall during the regime of Shaikh Hasina’s Awami League. Even in 1975, when Shakih Mujib was assassinated, we were caught napping and let Bangladesh slip out of our sphere of influence. Indo-Bangladesh relations remained cold during the nearly two decades of rule by military dictators, generals Zia-ur-Rahman and HM Ershad and thereafter by Begum Khaleda Zia’s BNP. The return of Awami League brought the two nations closer,Shaikh Hasina owed her life to India, as she survived the Mujib Family massacre by virtue of being in India on that fateful day. She was successful in getting the economy of this beleaguered nation kick started and India  was happily providing all the support.  Maintaining good neighbourly relations is a win-win for both the nations and augured well for their populace and their economies as well. The close cooperation helped, but unfortunately Bangladesh was hampered by a highly vitiated political environment, where BNP and Awami League were at loggerheads. For any functioning democracy, ruling party and the principal opposition must enjoy cordial relationship and not demonstrated animosity. The differences should be ideological and not taken down to personal levels. If there is a total breakdown of communication between the two, as was witnessed by BNP boycotting the elections in 2024, the election process itself is sabotaged and becomes suspect.

 

In India, the growing chasm between BJP and the Opposition is definitely not healthy. By no means am I equating the two situations, but in seventy eight years of independent India, this is the first time the relations between the two rival groups have stooped so low. While acrimonious debates in the parliaments are par for the course, but in private, the politicians indulged in friendly banter and often even socialised. It takes two hands to clap and both the ruling dispensation and the opposition are to blame for the present imbroglio. 

 

We have to get our act together, the parties must let the parliament run and instead of wasting precious time over frivolous charges of Vote theft and opposing SIR, debate on major challenges facing the nation, with situation in Bangladesh being one of them. Historically, whenever, there is trouble brewing in the neighbourhood, India has to face the brunt in the guise of influx of refugees. Law and order situation in West Bengal is farfrom satisfactory and this will only complicate matters further. We also need to be watchful on the highly porous border, activate our security apparatus and expedite the border fencing. Our intelligence agencies need to be more vigilant and finally the leadership has to steer through this storm utilising every trick in diplomacy, resorting to good old Chanakya Neeti of  “sam, dam dand bhed”.

TRUMP PUTIN IN ALASKA

 

Trump Putin in Alaska, sounds like Johar Mahmood in HongKong, old timers would recall a comedy movie starring IS Johar and Mahmood. While the movie was a fictitious comedy, the Alaska summit was itself quite a farce. Trump won his Presidential election on the premise that he would ensure that Russia-Ukraine smoke the peace pipe within days of his coming to power. Well it has been months and Russia and Ukraine continue to be at each other’s throats. Trump considers himself to be a peacemaker par excellence and has already staked a claim to the Nobel Peace Prize umpteen number of times.

What went on in the tete-a-tete which Vlad and Don indulged in has been a matter of conjecture amongst the global geo-political analysts. The meme world has also gone berserk with one version doing the rounds where Putin tells Trump that he should return Alaska and take Ukraine, Trump declines, so Putin then offers that Trump should retain Alaska and Putin could retain Ukraine. Donald then feels that this deal is a fair one. There is another one where after the summit, Trump hands over a blank white sheet to  Zelensky which Putin had sent and Zelensky then says the sheet is blank, where Trump tells him that he is expected to wave that to Putin and sue for peace.

Be that as it may,  what would a scribe have given to be a fly on the wall there.  I will let you in on a secret, I was there, and have the first hand news of what transpired within the four walls there. After the pleasantries and the customary handshake, no hugs mind you, Putin first told him the ground situation where Russian troops were physically present in Donetsk, Luhansk, Zaporizhzhia and Kherson oblasts apart from Crimea which of course has been with Russia since 2014. Trump was stumped, there was no way in hell he could pronounce any of these regions, he started with Zzzz and then gave up, so he just grunted ok. Putin was overjoyed and presumed that Trump had just consented on the current state of affairs. Then Putin put forth his final request that while Ukraine cannot be admitted in NATO but Russia can and should immediately be incorporated as a member. Once Russia joins NATO, then Russia has a security guarantee and the threat from Ukraine is then taken care of. In addition he assured Donald his friend that this feather in his cap is a surefire ticket to the elusive Nobel. Then he invited him to Moscow for the next round to finalise the deal once and for all.

Trump returned triumphant after this highly successful summit, where he had not only secured peace but also assured himself of a Nobel, after all if Obama could why can’t he? His predecessor in his first inning as President fought two wars during his Presidency, and did not broker any ceasefires whatsoever,  whereas Trump had bombed only Iran so far and brokered peace between warring nations cutting across continents from Israel-Hamas, Cambodia – Thailand, Ethiopia-Rwanda, India -Pakisatan and now Russia-Ukraine, the icing on the cake. So obviously, Trump’s claim is genuine. In the ultimate bargain Nobel for Trump is too small a price for the world to return to sanity. Let us all together lend our support to this worthy cause.

Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction and any similarity in events is purely coincidental.